


A Christmas Feast

by sigh_no_more



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-09 21:21:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5555768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sigh_no_more/pseuds/sigh_no_more
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So began a tradition they continued for the next twelve years. It didn't matter whether or not they lived in the same foster house, or if they had barely spoken all year. Christmas Eve was the night they ate dinner together.</p><p>Feuilly and Montparnasse have come a long ways since they met in a foster home years ago. They're in different places now, but they always make sure to have dinner together on Christmas Eve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Christmas Feast

**Author's Note:**

> For my fic giveaway. 
> 
> [Feuillysheart](http://feuillysheart.tumblr.com/) asked for: Platonic Feuilly/Montparnasse? Maybe something about them meeting for their Christmas tradition dinner/something even if they're in very different places now

Feuilly glanced at the clock. The meeting was officially over, but since it was Christmas Eve, none of the Amis were in a rush to leave. The business part of the meeting was over, and it had long since devolved into a social affair. Feuilly would have liked to stay longer, bask a little longer in the company of his friends, but tradition called. So he made his goodbyes, and walked off into the night.

It took him less time than he expected, getting to the tiny Chinese restaurant on the outskirts of Paris. He must have missed the holiday rush of people clamoring to get out of the city. 

He sat in one of the dingy chairs and waited, flicking through the paperback he always carried around with him. The bells on the cafe door jingled.

"Hey nerd."

Feuilly looked up at the newcomer.

"Montparnasse."

“Wasn't sure you'd show," Montparnasse said, slouching his way over to Feuilly. 

"You didn't really think that."

Montparnasse shrugged and Feuilly repressed a sigh. It always took a little while for Montparnasse to shed the tough guy act. It seemed with each passing year, he put up more and more defenses. Feuilly always wanted to ask why. What happened that made him want to hide behind such artifice. But he didn't. Asking would make more walls spring up. Instead he waited. Montparnasse would relax, eventually. He always did. 

Feuilly pocketed his book as Montparnasse pretended to scan the menu. There was no need for either of them to look. They always ended up getting the same things.

And so began a night of tradition that started years ago when they both lived in the same foster house ran by a lady whose real name they forgot, but who they remembered as Mrs. Toad.

Mrs. Toad was awful. Both boys went through their fair share of foster homes, separately and together, and they agreed that her house was amongst the worst.

  
Feuilly and Montparnasse were expected to attend the Toads' Christmas dinner so they could show their foster sons off to their family and brag about their charity. But on Christmas Eve, Mr. and Mrs Toad were attending the Christmas party of a friend, and their foster children weren't invited. Instead, they were given strict instructions to go straight to bed after dinner. 

  
Montparnasse had other ideas. "Look what I found," he said, holding out a crisp 20 Euro note.

Feuilly gasped, and rushed over to look at it. He had been 10 at the time, and had never been so close to so much money. "What are you going to do with it?"

  
"I'm going to buy us a Christmas dinner. Because we deserve a nice Christmas dinner, even if it's a day early," Montparnasse decided.

"But we're supposed to go straight to bed."

  
"After dinner," Montparnasse agreed. "But we haven't eaten dinner yet."

  
They snuck out of their second story bedroom, and over to the Chinese restaurant a few blocks away. It was close, and cheap, and neither of them had tried Chinese food before. And so began a tradition they continued for the next twelve years. It didn't matter whether or not they lived in the same foster house, or if they had barely spoken all year. Christmas Eve was the night they ate dinner together.

  
Feuilly tried to find traces of the Montparnasse from his childhood in the face of the man in front of him. So much had changed. The cheeks had lost all the baby fat, the mouth that had always been smiling was now arranged in a perpetual pout. The eyes were the same color, it was true. But they were so much more guarded. Montparnasse caught him staring. He seemed caught off guard, so he turned back to the menu.

They got the food to go. This too was an important part of the tradition. When they were younger, both boys had been desperate to watch the _Muppets Christmas Carol_ on TV. They had seen commercials playing for it, but Mrs. Toad rarely let them watch TV, and never let them watch what they wanted. They decided to watch the movie as they ate their Chinese food, so they could still go to bed right after they finished dinner. 

  
This year they went to Feuilly's tiny studio. They never went to Montparnasse's place. Not since they were adults. Feuilly wondered if it was because Montparnasse didn't want him to judge, or if he was trying to protect Feuilly from seeing something he shouldn't. Maybe both. It didn't really matter. Feuilly liked Montparnasse in his space. He left traces of himself that Feuilly would find for days afterwards. It made it easier for Feuilly to pretend that Montparnasse was a regular part of his life.

He gave Montparnasse a pair of reindeer pajama bottoms to wear. Montparnasse only hesitated slightly before accepting. He retreated into the bathroom to put them on. Feuilly changed into snowmen pajamas in the bedroom/living area quickly before Montparnasse came out. When he did, he took one look at Feuilly and rolled his eyes.

“We look ridiculous.”

Feuilly understood this to mean, “Thank you.” Instead of responding with a “you’re welcome,” he said, “Come on. Food’s going to get cold.”

Montparnasse spread the Chinese food out on the coffee table while Feuilly pulled up the movie on his laptop. Montparnasse rolled his eyes.

“Of course you _bought_ the movie.”

“Of course I did. There’s not a guarantee of them playing it on TV every year.”

“I meant most people would just download it, you giant nerd.”

Feuilly shrugged as he picked up his fried rice. “I’m not most people.”

Montparnasse was quiet for a moment. “No you’re not.”

Feuilly wanted to tell Montparnasse that he wasn’t most people either. That he didn’t have to keep going down the path he had chosen. That Montparnasse was a smart man, and deep down, a good one. He could live his life without depending on crime. But he knew any such comment would make Montparnasse shut down. There was a reason they never discussed anything serious around Christmas. Christmas was their holiday. It was their break from reality. Feuilly wouldn’t tarnish their special day.

So instead he said, “Don’t worry. I only watch it with you.”

Montparnasse shook his head. “So sentimental.”

Feuilly shrugged. He wasn’t wrong.

It took about ten minutes for Montparnasse to relax. Montparnasse always seemed casual wherever he went, but Feuilly knew the difference from Montparnasse’s affected casualness from when he was truly relaxed. It took another fifteen minutes for him to laugh. He had a beautiful laugh, but Feuilly noted it sounded a little rusty. He wondered how many times Montparnasse sincerely laughed on a day-to-day basis. The question made him sad.

Montparnasse ended up lying across the couch, sprawled over Feuilly’s lap. When the credits started rolling, he sat up and stretched.

“Cocoa?” he asked.

Feuilly nodded. “I’ll put the food away.”

While he tidied up his living space, Montparnasse went back into the bathroom. When he came out, his black pants were back on, as were his boots and leather jacket, and his gray scarf. Feuilly preferred the sleepy Montparnasse wearing reindeer pajamas.

“Give me a minute,” Feuilly said, grabbing his outergear and slipping into the bathroom.

Once he was bundled up, they went out into the night. It was almost midnight, but that didn’t matter. Years ago, when Feuilly and Montparnasse lived on opposite sides of Paris, they discovered a tiny little café that was open 24/7 that sold the best hot chocolate they had ever tasted. It was a little hole-in-the-wall place. Feuilly wondered if Grantaire knew about it. He never asked, because he didn’t want to share it. It felt like a secret, like something precious.

He barely remembered how they had found it. He remembered they got their Chinese food at Montparnasse’s house that year, because his foster parents were actually decent, and said of course he could invite his former foster brother over for Christmas Eve. Feuilly’s foster parents that year were less generous. When the movie ended that year, Montparnasse insisted on seeing Feuilly home, because Feuilly lived in a not so safe neighborhood, and Montparnasse was already gaining a bit of a reputation, so he was sure no one would touch a hair on Feuilly’s head if he walked him home. It was sometime during that walk that they discovered the café, and now no Christmas Eve was complete without getting some hot chocolate.

Even though they only went to the café once a year, they had no difficulty in finding it. Sometimes, Feuilly thought it seemed as though the café and the Chinese restaurant were enshrined in some kind of mystical holiday magic. Like if they were to go looking for either place any other day of the year, they wouldn’t be able to find them.

The bells on the door sang their arrival. Surprisingly, there were a few other customers spread out through the café. But luckily, no line. They both opted for the classic hot cocoa, then sat at a booth away from everyone else. Old timey Christmas played softly over the speakers. Montparnasse and Feuilly sat in compatible silence until their hot chocolates were brought. They both instantly grabbed their mugs and took a sip. When they put the cups down again, they both had whipped cream mustaches. Montparnasse caught Feuilly’s eye and they laughed. Maybe some things hadn’t changed completely from when they were young.

“So…how are….things?” Montparnasse asked.

“Things are good.” Feuilly said carefully. “How are things with you?”

“Good,” Montparnasse said, taking another sip from his cup.

“Good.” Feuilly took a sip too.

“And your friends?”

Feuilly raised his eyebrows. “You really want to know?”

Montparnasse shrugged. “No.” He paused. “Yes.”

“They’re good.” He fiddled with his napkin. “They’re trying to change the world.” Then what Montparnasse probably cared the most about. “They look after me. They make me happy.”

Montparnasse nodded as he processed this. “I’m glad.”

“And your friends?”

Montparnasse looked distinctly uncomfortable. “They’re….they look after me.”

“Do they make you happy?”

Feuilly got a shrug in response. “No. But there’s a girl. Kind of. It’s complicated.”

“Does the girl have a name?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe someday I can meet her,” Feuilly said kindly.

“Maybe,” Montparnasse echoed.

They finished their cocoa in silence. They didn’t need to talk much to understand each other completely. They had been there for each other’s formative years and knew each other’s flaws and loved each other regardless. They didn’t need to know all the details of each other’s lives. Of course, Feuilly would prefer to know more details about Montparnasse’s life, and he would like to share more about his own. But what they had worked.

“Walk?”

Feuilly nodded. This was a newer part of their routine – walking around Paris in the early hours of the morning. Feuilly shivered and wrapped his scarf a little more tightly around his neck.

“It’s not that I don’t want you to meet Eponine,” Montparnasse said. “It’s just complicated.”

“It always is with you,” Feuilly sighed. He said it as a fact, without judgement.

“It’s not just me,” Montparnasse said defensively. “Ep’s complicated too.”

“Sounds like you’re perfect for each other.”

Montparnasse reached his arm in front of Feuilly to stop him. “I would introduce you to her, if the timing was right. You know that, right?”

It seemed important to him. “Yeah, I know that.”

“That’s just not who I am right now. I might never be the kind of guy introduces his girlfriend to his family. And I’ll probably never be the guy who has a 9 to 5 job. But if that was me, I’d tell you, you know?”

“I know,” Feuilly said, taking his hand. “And look, I want you to be happy, and safe. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you. And for you to maybe check in every once in a while.”

“I’ll call more. Next year. I’ll call more,” Montparnasse said.

Feuilly nodded, knowing full well he wouldn’t. “That would be nice.”

“And I’ll be more careful. Take better care of myself, take less risks.”

Feuilly shot him a look. Some lies were too big for him to pretend to swallow.

“Okay, well, I’ll _think_ about taking less risks. And I might even feel a little guilty after doing something stupid, because I’ll think of your face if you heard about it.”

“That’s all I can ask for,” Feuilly said.

They reached a corner.

“I’m this way,” Feuilly said, gesturing.

“I’m that way,” Montparnasse nodded the opposite way.

“I meant it though. Take care of yourself. And if you ever need anything-”

“I have your number,” Montparnasse said quietly. He hesitated, then pulled Feuilly into a hug. “Keep those friends of yours. You look good. Happy.”

Montparnasse gave Feuilly one last look, even giving him a small smile, before retreating into the foggy night. Feuilly watched him until he disappeared completely. He would see him throughout the year. Montparnasse had a way of popping in and out of his life, though without any consistency. At least Feuilly could count on seeing him again next Christmas Eve.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [here](http://babesatthebarricade.tumblr.com)


End file.
